


Towels, Not Just for Toweling

by otenma



Series: Not Just For X [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Dean, Dean Freaks Out, Fluff, Frottage, Incest, M/M, Multi, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2219037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otenma/pseuds/otenma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's avoiding, the way he does. Sam catches him in a towel. John walks in on them. Things get complicated (and oddly fluffy towards the end?).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Towels, Not Just for Toweling

Dean chops off the last vampire's head with a grunt and lets the corpse crumple to the ground. He wipes the blood spatter off of his face, but there's nothing to be done about his shirt until he gets his hands on some baking soda.

He drags the body and head back to the vamp nest and throws it atop the pile John had been working on. "Last one," Dean says. There are thirteen total--too many to bury, so they burn them, making sure their nest in the middle of nowhere burns with them. While John calls 9-1-1 from his stolen truck, Dean climbs into the Impala and speeds off before his father can ask where he's going.

Dean needs a drink.

He stumbles into the motel room around eight at night, early for him, but he's been drinking since two. His mouth is dry and cheap beer sticks to his teeth--he needs a shower. He's not terrifically drunk anymore, or even all that tipsy, but his head hurts and his steps don't quite run in a straight line.

The motel is empty, amazingly, Dean supposes Sammy's out tracking down that missing girl, the one whose corpse they didn't find in the vamp nest and so might actually still be alive somewhere. John's probably out getting shitfaced just like Dean was. It doesn't matter, Dean has the place to himself for once and he's taking advantage. He strips on his way to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes, and turns on the shower, intent on using up every drop of hot water.

He stays under the spray for a solid hour, letting the water pressure beat away the knots in his shoulders, the pounding between his temples. Steam blanets the mirror by the time he gets out, towel slung around his waist.

Sam looks up from his laptop at the table when Dean opens the door. "Took you long enough. I've had to pee for ten minutes."

Dean freezes, but manages to cover it up with a cough. "Quit whining."

Sam rolls his eyes and retreats into the bathroom. Dean gathers up his clothes from the floor and tries not to acknowledge the way his heart's sped up. He yanks his duffle up onto the bed, rifling through for clean clothes that aren't sweat-soaked and dirty and peppered with vampire blood.

The toilet flushes. Sam comes back out while Dean's still got the stupid towel around his stupid waist. Dean wants to go hide in the bathroom to change but can't bring himself to be that much of a wimp--but he also doesn't want to drop the towel in front of Sam.

Not the way Dean's body has been leaning lately.

He clears his throat and slants a glance at his brother--Sam combs back his hair with his hands and stretches up, up, almost touching the damn ceiling on his way back to the laptop...

And his shirt rides up.

And a thin stripe of belly flashes.

Dean swallows.

Sam notices. He draws his brows together and tilts his head at his brother, much the way Castiel will do years later. "You okay?"

Dean flushes and rubs the back of his neck, turning away from Sam. Shit, shit, shit, all the blood's going straight down to his crotch, the way it's been doing every time Sammy does something small and sexy like that lately. He should just get dressed and go back to the bar, maybe pick up a fun date and crash at their's tonight.

Sam watches the way his brother's shoulders tense up as he goes through his bag, can practically hear the tension in the room spike. He admits though, he likes that he can fluster Dean so completely without even trying.

Come to think of it, Sam hasn't seen him wearing so little since that night in the Impala. Dean was never modest, but maybe the new sexual endeavors between them have gotten him...shy?

Sam sidles up behind Dean and lays a large hand on his shoulder. Dean stops rustling through his duffle abruptly but doesn't turn around, though his does angle his head slightly. They stay like that for several heartbeats, Sam waiting to see if Dean throws off his touch, but it never happens. Instead, a shiver runs down Dean's spine, shoulders rolling back. His skin is cool, still damp from the shower.

He slides his hand down Dean's back and around his waist, drawing his brother against his chest.

"Sammy..."

"Dad called me, earlier," Sam tells him. "He said you stormed off after the vamp nest got taken care of, I guess he figured you'd be with me. But you were out drinking. Again."

"Like that's news."

"It was, a few weeks ago. Before we--before things changed. You're hiding, Dean."

"Oh save the mushy feelings crap, would ya? I'm not your damn girlfriend."

"No you're not." Sam brushes his knuckles against Dean's crotch, over the towel. "You're my brother."

Arousal sparks right down to Dean's dick and just like that, he's got a boner well on the way. "Damn it, Sam!" He shrugs of out his brother's hold, clutching the towel like his life depends on it. "I--shit. I'll be back in ten."

He heads for the bathroom but Sam grabs his arm. Dean sighs. "Sam, I swear to God--"

"There's nothing wrong with what we're doing."

"There's everything wrong with what we did. Once."

"Twice."

Dean scowls. "Point is, it's fucked up."

"Says who?"

"Uh, everyone? The law?"

Sam snorts. "Since when does the law apply to us, Dean? Since when do we care what everyone else says?"

"You're...you're thinking with your dick, Sammy, Jesus. Go find yourself a girl or something, get this outta your system."

"I don't want a girl." Sam pulls Dean's hand down to his own crotch, makes his brother feel the bulge straining against the denim. "I want you."

Dean's breath catches at the feel of his brother's erection, feeling his own swell in response. His fingers splay out, dragging along the weight of Sam's cock, before snapping out of it, but Sam prevents him from turning away with a hand curled around the nape of his neck and oh, part of Dean melts a little.

Sam feels it, the way Dean relaxes depsite himself, and it becomes clear what he needs.

Someone to take control away from him for a while. Someone to handle him.

"Dean," Sam says, gently, like Dean's something fragile instead of the strong, capable man Sam knows him to be, and Dean responds instantly, shoulders drooping, exhale shuddering out of him. "I've got you."

Sam slots his mouth over his brother's, open but without tongue, and Dean kisses back in surprise. Their lips part with a wet sound and Dean stares up at Sam with his huge green eyes, confusion all over his face.

So Sam just kisses him again. Dean is stock still as Sam roves his free hand over Dean's chest, down his arm, along his ribs. When Sam pulls back this time, Dean's eyes are shut tight, teeth firmly trenched in his bottom lip, arousal and guilt all knotted together.

Sam thinks about telling Dean to look at him, but he figures Dean has enough to deal with and deserves some measure of security. He leaves his brother standing by the bed and goes through Dean's bag, digging out a rarely-used tie. Dean flinches back when he feels the material around his face, but relaxes as Sam tightens the knot behind his head.

Dean likes being blindfolded.

At least, that's what the tenting of his towel says. Sam steps back and takes in the sight of his brother, practically naked, blind, standing in the middle of the crappy motel room.

It makes his cock throb.

"Take off the towel."

Dean hesitates, but brings his hand up.

The door to the motel room opens and John walks in, looking worn and agitated--he freezes at the sight. Sam, looking frustrated, not bothering to hide the tent in his jeans, while Dean, torn between hunching and standing up straight like a proper soldier, reaches up to undo the stupid fucking blindfold.

Sam's hand lands on his nape, squeezing softly, more a comfort than a warning. Dean lets his hands fall back to his sides, fists clenching. Tense, and right when he was finally loosening up.

"What...are you two doing?"

Dean chews his lip. Sam takes in the way his brother's flush spreads down his chest, feels the way his pulse jumps--he has no doubt that if he could see Dean's eyes, the pupils would be blown out.

"C'mere, Dad," Sam says. Dean's head swivels to Sam, but Sam just strokes his thumb down Dean's neck, reassuring. That second time in the Impala wasn't all Sam and Dean. John had started the damn thing, and the way Dean had sucked on their father's fingers led Sam to believe that his brother wanted more.

Their father hovers in the doorway a moment before stepping all the way in and shutting the door behind him, locking it for good measure. Dean's shoulders rise with every heavy bootfall as John approaches.

"It's happened again, hasn't it?" John says, and Dean swallows at how close his father's gotten. RIght in front of him, Dean can feel his breath, smell it even--and he can't help the relief he feels when he can't scent a hint of booze. John is actually sober.

Dean's not sure if that's better or worse.

Sam's chest puffs out when Dean shifts closer to his brother--they're nearly touching now, Dean's back brushing against Sam's jacket--but catches the way John's face falls. He leans in, cheek against Dean's ear. "The towel."

Dean doesn't budge.

John hooks his fingers into the edge of the towel, watching the way his son's breath hitches, how his stomach flutters. He pulls it away in one quick move, letting it puddle on the floor at Dean's feet.

Dean's erection juts out, full and heavy and hard. His hands jump and clench, clearly at a loss for something to do, so Sam solves the problem and clasps them by the wrists, bringing them up and to John's face.

His father's stubble scratches along Dean's palms, and there's something so real about it. Dean's never done this before, never been this close to his father, always known proper sons don't do things like touch their fathers beyond a clap on the back or, rarely, a brief hug. But John doesn't bark orders at him, or tell him to stop acting like a pussy--he just stands there, utterly still, and lets Dean touch him.

And Dean does. He runs his fingers along his father's jawline, cheekbones, behind his ears, up into his hairline, over his nose, his eyes. When he slides his thumb over John's lips, he feels a smile.

It eases Dean's mind because John's allowing it, allowing Dean to get close like this, but it also sets him on edge--what's the boundary? What happens if Dean crosses it? How long is this going to last?

When the blindfold comes off, is that smile going to disappear?

Sam rubs circles into Dean's back, working into the knots forming there, and kisses his shoulder. "Easy, Dean."

It doesn't work as well as Sam would like. He stares at his father until John meets his eyes.

"Touch him."

John's confusion reminds Sam suddenly, unnervingly of the way Dean had looked at him just before the blindfold--guilty, overwhelmed, ashamed. But he doesn't have nearly as much sympathy for his father, so he just stares down the man until he moves.

Dean feels John's rough, callused hands smooth over his bare chest, running down to his stomach and sides and back up again. He feels his exposure keenly, cock throbbing and leaking and twitching under the attention of both his brother and father, but it doesn't freak him out so much this time.

Then Sam's hand snakes out and wraps around Dean's cock, pulling at the already-retracted foreskin, dipping down to stroke Dean's balls, back up again to circle the head, smearing the slick precome.

"Try it," Sam goads, but when Dean reaches down automatically Sam takes that hand and pins it behind Dean's back, forcing him to arch out a little. He gives John a piercing look and releases Dean's cock.

John is slow, too slow for Sam's liking, but he gets there in the end, tunneling his son's erection uncertainly at first, but when Dean moans at the touch it encourages him to firm his grip, and Dean's knees nearly buckle. His father's hand is hot and strong, and his hips thrust up of their own free will, fingers closing in as much of John's short hair he can get hold of.

A blurt of precome gives John enough lubrication to slide his hand up and down easily--he recalls something Sam did in the Impala and slides his thumbnail along Dean's slit, chuckling when Dean hisses and pulls him in close, burying his face in John's collar. He breathes in his son's scent, the sweat and soap, pumping his cock and feeling his own erection grow.

Sam, keeping Dean's arm pinned behind his back, unzips his jeans and pulls out his own hard cock, knocking Dean's legs wider, and steps in, grinding the length of it between Dean's ass cheeks. Dean stiffens, but Sam just huffs against the back of his neck. "Don't worry, Dean. You're okay."

He won't enter his brother. Sam suspects that Dean is deathly curious, but he won't push that onto his brother. Dean will have to come to him for that.

Sam humps his brother's ass, delighting in the friction, the smoothness, how if he draws back far enough he can catch the head of his cock on Dean's entrance and how that makes his brother keen so sweetly in surprise.

Dean unlatches his hand from the back of his fathers head and unzips John's pants, feeling for his erection and finding it hot and hard against his palm. It's the first time he's ever touched another guy's dick, and it's his goddamned dad's.

He tries not to think about that.

John steps forward when Dean tugs him, lightning thrilling through him when his and his son's cocks touch. Dean moans, biting his lip. "I've got you, son," John tells him, wrapping his big hand around both cocks and pumping them together. Dean shivers with pleasure, forehead tipping to rest on John's shoulder.

He's being loved from all sides. His brother at his back, father in front, both of them so intent, so focused, on him. Him, of all people. He reaches behind and cups the back of Sammy's head, grinning when Sam slithers a hand around and toys with a nipple, mouths along his neck, leaving sharp red bruises that send jolts of pleasure right to Dean's toes.

Dean's hips don't know which way to go. Forward, for the friction John's hand offers his dick, or backwards, where Sammy's frantic grinding rubs Dean's asshole just right and makes him want more. They settle for undulating between the two men, Sam and John settling into a rhythm unintentionally.

His father's precome mixes with Dean's, while Sammy's streaks between Dean's ass cheeks. He's overwhelmed. He wants to give both of them all of himself, he wants to show them he can take it. He wants to bend over--

Dean comes with a high, sharp keen. It sets off John, white ribbons striping across Dean's stomach and chest. He keeps his hand around both their cocks as they soften, gentler now but still there, and Dean's grateful.

Sam growls, and Dean feels hot come paint his back all the way up to his shoulder blades, fingers digging into his side, sure to leave marks. His brother leans against him, panting, and Dean scratches his nails over Sammy's scalp, making him shudder.

The three of them stay like that, catching their breath, until John releases Dean. Sam stands, letting go of his brother, and Dean suddenly feels very alone, and very much like he's not ready to take off the blindfold yet.

He listens as Sam walks away, hears a click. Sam comes back and unties the blindfold, and Dean blinks in the dark.

Sammy turned off the lights.

Dean could kiss him.

He doesn't--now that the blindfold's off and everyone's gotten off it all feels weird and dirty and tense again--but he wants to. Dean picks up the towel and wipes himself clean, then pulls on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. He heads for the piece-of-crap sofa, but Sam pulls him to the bed. "Sleep with me tonight."

Call it mushy feelings crap, but Dean goes soft inside at the words.


End file.
